Harry Potter Boot Camp Ficlets
by DeiStarr
Summary: A series of ficlets telling independent yet interconnected stories about various Hogwarts students and characters. Mostly Drarry. Contains slash, femmeslash, and het. Focuses on Slytherin for the most part, but dabbles in Gryffindor and touches lightly on Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. VERY much Draco centric. Contains all your favourite characters, plus a few not well known.
1. Chapter 1

**Title: **Boot Camp Ficlets

**Disclaimer: **I own nothing except the cardboard box I call home.

**Rating:** _T or PG-13_

**Pairings: **Draco/Harry, Blaise/Theo, Daphne/Millicent, Ron/Hermione, (past) Vince/Greg, (past) Parvati/Lavender, (one-sided) Draco/Pansy, Astoria/Draco, Astoria/Greg, Parvati/Luna, (one-sided) Justin/Millicent, Lucius/Narcissa, Vernon/Petunia, Remus/Tonks, Seamus/Dean, James/Lily, (one-sided) Ginny/Harry, Filch/Mrs. Norris, (one-sided) Bellatrix/Lord Voldemort.

**Warnings: **Implied sex between two males, two females, and het couples; language, language, language!

**Summary: **A series of interconnected one shots telling multiple stories that coalesce into a whole. All written as prompts for Boot Camps in the HPFC forum.

**A/N: **I have a whole series planned out of 250 ficlets for five different boot camps. I plan to write one a day until they are done - if I can manage it.

***I RESERVE THE RIGHT TO BUMP THIS TO AN M RATING IF I BELIEVE IT NECESSARY IN THE FUTURE*** You have been warned.

* * *

**Boot Camp:** Favourite Character Boot Camp

**Prompt**: Apple

**Continuation of this HC**: w w w DOT fanfiction DOT net SLASH s/9498493/11/Head-Canons

* * *

I love apples.

When the Dark Lord - I can't say his name, no matter what Potter says, or how hard he tries to get me to do it; I just can't, I fucking can't - when he was living in the Manor, it became a place for dead and dying things. For broken, misshapen, ugly, and deformed things.

Apples are like the antithesis of those things, to me. Fresh and juicy; bursting with sweetness. Green, growing things. Perfect and lovely in their small, insignificant way.

They make me feel a little less tainted, somehow. Like with every apple I eat, I come closer to erasing the mark of the Dark Lord on my mind, just as I'll never erase his Mark from my arm. It's fading since Potter killed him; more of a scar than a tattoo now, really, but it's still there. It always will be; the Mark of my foolishness, my pride, and my fucking shame.

Just like his taint, his dirt; the poisonous sludge that is his filth lingers like a slimy film over my memories.

But for some reason, with every bite of crisp, raw freshness, apples make me feel a little less defiled.

So I love apples.

According to Granger - I don't even trip up calling her mudblood any more, you'll notice, and I'm pretty damn proud of myself; Potter is too - according to her it's probably some sort of obsessive-compulsive disorganized thing. Whatever that means. Something muggle.

A year ago I would have dismissed it out of hand, because it's a muggle thing; but I've changed over the past year.

I'm not the same boy I was who broke Potter's nose on the Hogwarts Express.

Mother says I've become a man.

Maybe I have.

I think I just see clearly for the first time in my life.

It's strange, realising everything you've believed in your whole life is probably wrong. Realising that the man you've always respected and admired most was a simpering, cowering, accommodating toady to a madman who nearly destroyed us all.

To say it changes your perspective on things is an understatement.

So my worldview underwent some pretty drastic changes. I had to rethink who I was, who I'd been and who I was becoming; and most of all who I wanted to be.

It was while I was undergoing all of these massive changes in my psyche that Potter came to return my wand. I don't get why I did it. He'd always been my mortal enemy.

But then he testified on my behalf, my mother's, and even my father's - a man who'd been trying to kill him since he was a kid. Before that, he saved my life. Twice.

There I was, emotionally and mentally distraught and vulnerable.

And there he was, looking glorious, with his windswept black hair and his piercing green eyes and his brilliant, I'm-Here-I'll-Save-You smile.

I poured my heart and soul out to the Gryffindor prat. I was passionate; I was desperate. I wanted to prove myself and to make up for the past. He listened to everything with that incredible smile in his face and made me feel so fucking safe and fucking accepted and then he left and never fucking owled. Not a word. Not one fucking How-Are-You-Holding-In-There-Malfoy word. (Potter says I've got a real dirty mouth on me; I say it's just to piss my father off. I never used to talk like that but now it's a real pleasure watching the old man squirm and his face tic and he can't even say anything; because I'm of age and because he cocked it all up so badly.)

Anyway, after that whenever I saw Potter I automatically reverted back to our old methods of interaction. I had to. It was fucking first year all over again and he fucking rejected me again and it fucking hurt all over again; hurt so bad I could barely stand it, could barely breathe through it. I had let him in, and he dropped me and my deepest emotions and hopes and fucking dreams like none of it fucking mattered. Like I didn't fucking matter. I would see him again and he would smile like he fucking cared, but he didn't and it was Merlin-damned Cruciatus in my veins.

Then back at Hogwarts, he was staring at me all the time, watching me like he did back in sixth year. Watching me to see what I was up to. Just waiting for me to fucking mess up. When I would catch him looking he'd look away really quickly and his cheeks would go all pink and damn if it didn't look fucking good on him, and damn if I didn't know whether to be hurt and angry that he'd apparently decided I'm guilty of something again, or happy that at least he was paying attention to me.

Fucking pathetic, I know.

I hated it.

I hated him.

My fucking apples were my only solace.

Fucking apples.

Then one day I snuck out to be alone and sit by the edge of the lake eating some apples. I heard something; someone, but when I looked up there was nobody there.

And I just knew it was fucking Potter; hiding under that invisibility cloak I caught him with sixth year - and why I didn't just swipe it then is beyond me; bloody stupid, that - he was spying on me.

So I called him out on it.

And sure enough, he materialised out of thin air, looking sheepish. He sat down beside me and made conversation. And fuck if it didn't feel bloody good to have his attention in a friendly way and fuck if it didn't get my hopes up. Again.

So I said as casually as I could, "It's almost as if you're trying to be friends, Potter"; waiting for him to laugh it off, to brush it aside so I can remember why I hate him.

Only he didn't do that.

"Maybe I am... Draco," he said, and fuck if my name rolling off his tongue didn't make my toes want to curl.

So I called him "Harry" and we shook hands and it was all I could do not to start blubbering like some big baby right there and then. He laughed like he was happy; like I made him happy by agreeing to be his friend. And I guess my face was nearly split in two by my fucking sappy smile.

So that's how Potter and I became friends.

But there's more.

See, being friends didn't stop Potter staring at me. He still did that thing where he'd go all pink and look away quick - like he was guilty of something.

And then there were the apples. He'd watch me eating them like he was salivating, but he rarely took one when I offered. I just couldn't figure it out.

What did it though were Pansy and Blaise. The three of us have been friends since before we were weaned; and ours tends to be a very physical friendship, with a lot of casual touches. A lot of people have mistakenly thought that we were romantically involved, but that wasn't exactly the case. Pansy used to have a crush on me and I took her to the Yule Ball, but seriously; she's like my sister. Blaise is my brother. Not in blood, but in spirit. And he's as straight as they come.

Those two are family. I love them more than anyone else in the world, except my mother.

But Potter would look over and see Pansy resting her head on my shoulder, playing with my hair - and she's the only one who gets away with that, mind - or Blaise leaning over to whisper in my ear with his hand on my thigh, and he'd go all tense and his jaw would clench and his eyes would go glacial.

You wouldn't think that green eyes could be icy but Potter managed it.

It was Blaise that pointed it out to me.

"Potter fancies you."

"No, he doesn't," I said flatly.

It was ridiculous. After all, we're both boys. Men. Whatever.

And besides that, I'm a (former) Death Eater; the son of a Death Eater. The Dark Lord lived in my house for a year. I ate Christmas fucking dinner with him. I let Death Eaters into Hogwarts and disarmed Dumbledore so Snape could kill him. I had Madam Rosemerta under fucking Imperius - an Merlin-damned Unforgivable - for almost a year. I nearly killed Katie Bell and the Weasel - I mean Weasley. (I'm still working on that one.)

Potter's the Saviour of the Wizarding World. The Chosen One. The Golden Boy. Hero to every witch and wizard alive. He killed the Dark Lord, ended the war, and saved us all.

It was laughable.

And yet... Once Blaise pointed it out to me, I couldn't help noticing things.

Things like how Potter always went out of his way to make time for me. How he'd laugh at all my jokes, how he was always smiling at me, how when he'd look at me his eyes were big and round and shiny and sometimes he'd just _look_ at me; like I was something precious, a treasure.

And I realised Blaise was right.

I wasn't sure how I felt about that.

Sure, I was flattered. Merlin; who wouldn't be? Not to mention that for my shredded reputation and tattered pride, it was a huge ego boost.

But for all that I'd never really cared for girls, it had never occurred to me I could fancy a guy.

Blaise wanted to know what I was going to do about it.

"Nothing," I said.

"Bullshit, Draco," he swore at me. "I know you fancy him; you have since you were eleven."

I sputtered and protested that I did not, nor had I ever. He ignored me, but eventually he dropped it.

He got me thinking, though.

About how I had always, always craved Potter's attention. About how much it fucking hurt every time he rejected me. About how I noticed how bloody gorgeous he was, all the fucking time. About how safe he made me feel.

I thought about it a lot.

And then one day Potter and I were talking and he was making these big puppy-dog eyes at me, and I just snapped and rolled my eyes at him.

"You're such a stupid speccy git," I told him, and then I kissed him.


	2. Chapter 2

**Title: **Obsession

**Disclaimer:** J.K.R.'s babies. Not mine. I'm just the pervy babysitter. (Okay, that sounds bad...)

**Rating: **T or PG-13

**Pairing: **Harry/Draco

**Warnings: **Mentions shagging. Hints at a wet dream. Maybe language.

**A/N: **This was written for a prompt for the Character Diversity Boot Camp in the HPFC forums. Woot!

* * *

**Prompt: **Obsession

**Character: ** Harry

* * *

Harry wasn't obsessed.

He wasn't.

Whatever Ron and Hermione might say on the subject he was not.

This was not sixth year all over again.

He was not obsessed with Draco Malfoy.

He was merely observant.

He observed the way Malfoy interacted with the other students.

The things he did.

The things he said.

How he conducted himself in lessons, and how he spent his time out of the classroom as well.

What he ate for breakfast.

And lunch.

Maybe even for supper.

The way his hair fell around his face just so, and how it sort of glowed like a halo when the light hit it.

But he wasn't obsessed.

He was just observing.

The observing had started when he had returned Malfoy's wand after the war, after he stuck up for the Malfoys in the trials. The other boy had spoke passionately about his regrets, and his desire for redemption. Harry had spoken to him at length on the subject.

Afterwards, Harry had watched him every chance he got, the few times the other boy ventured from the Manor. They ran into each other as often as Harry could manage it. He even thought about owling Malfoy, but didn't want to annoy him.

So he just observed, except when he could manage a run-in. Malfoy seemed cold and distant, though. It was as if he had returned to his old self. Harry didn't mind too much, he found. It was better than seeing him broken. Harry just wished he could have the openness back that the Slytherin had shown him at the Manor. Malfoy had been so subdued. So remorseful.

"I don't know what to do. I caused so much misery, so much suffering. All I want is to find a way to make up for what I did, just a little. To know I'm doing good for once, even in a small way."

Malfoy had stared at the floor as he spoke, looking so pinched and small. Defeated and helpless. Harry almost wanted to hug him for some reason. This was not the Malfoy he knew; not how Malfoy should be.

"Try baby steps," he suggested. "Watch people; see what they need and do your best to help them. It might not seem like much, but it's a start."

"No one will trust me," whispered Malfoy.

"I would," Harry responded without thinking and with feeling. "I believe in you, Malfoy."

Malfoy had raised his eyes and stared at Harry with an unfathomable expression, but there was a light in his grey eyes that hadn't been there moments before.

"Thank you."

Harry hadn't expected Malfoy to take his advice so much to heart. But he did.

Malfoy watched everyone.

He knew the moment anyone had a problem, and he was always there to solve it.

The other students hadn't wanted his help, at first. But he was there, persistent, offering solutions with quiet dignity they couldn't help respect.

Other than the new first-years, who had no prior exposure to Malfoy and quickly grew to idolize him, the student body was wary of him. However after a few weeks it became blatantly obvious that Malfoy had changed.

Oh, he was still Malfoy. He walked around with his head held high and an icy expression on his face, was still full of sarcasm and biting wit. But he was never malicious, and most of the time, his sneer was noticeably absent.

He treated the other students with respect; even kindness. Even Ron had to - reluctantly - admit he was different.

In his desire to seek out and assist with everyone's problems, of every kind, he quickly became the most observant student in the school, even surpassing Harry.

Because while Harry's newfound powers of observation were limited to Malfoy, Malfoy noticed everyone, and everything.

Everyone and everything except Harry.

Harry had to admit that it hurt, though he didn't know why.

Malfoy quickly became the most popular boy in school, after Harry.

Maybe even moreso than Harry.

Harry may have defeated Voldemort, but Malfoy solved all their problems.

Harry didn't resent him for the fall in his popularity.

He even appreciated it.

What he resented him for was the fact that he was being singled out, treated differently from everyone else.

Malfoy treated all the other students with respect, even friendliness; going so far as to offer small smiles to the younger students. He was even nice to Ron and Hermione. But he was frosty to Harry.

He barely spoke two words to Harry, avoided him as much as he could, and interacted with him only when required.

That really hurt.

He had no idea why he was singled out for that treatment, or why Malfoy still hated him so much. He had thought they were past that. Merlin knew he was. So it hurt.

It motivated him to observe Malfoy more closely.

This wasn't like in sixth year. In sixth year, he had observed Malfoy with suspicion and loathing. Now he observed Malfoy with interest and longing. He wanted to be the Slytherin's friend.

He observed Malfoy even more closely.

Soon he could even read the Slytherin's moods, even through Malfoy's mask.

He could tell when Malfoy was happy, or sad, upset, amused, or when he'd just had enough.

He could predict the Slytherin's actions more often than not, with an accuracy that freaked Ron out.

He could even tell what Malfoy was thinking, sometimes.

He observed a conversation between Malfoy and a giggling third year girl that made his blood boil one day. She was asking for his help with a problem, but it was becoming clear that her only real problem was being completely smitten with Malfoy. From the bemused look on Malfoy's face, he'd noticed.

Harry was livid.

While she had done nothing wrong, and Malfoy obviously didn't return her affections, Harry still wanted to punch something. He was completely, irrationally, and furiously angry with the girl.

He stormed into the Gryffindor common room, where Ron and Hermione were studying by the fire. They looked up at his noisy entrance.

"What's wrong, mate?" Ron asked.

"Nothing," Harry huffed.

"Malfoy again?" Ron sounded resigned.

Harry launched into a tirade, explaining the situation. Then he quieted and fumed. His friends exchanged glances.

"Harry," Hermione began. "I think you should take a close look at your feelings for Malfoy."

"What do you mean?" Harry asked, annoyed.

"She means you want to shag him, mate," said Ron bluntly.

Harry stared as if the redhead had gone crazy.

"I think Harry wants to do a little more than shag him, Ron," Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You're both mental!" protested Harry.

"You're in love with Draco, Harry," Hermione said. Ron nodded in agreement.

Harry shook his head. "Janus Thickey ward-certifiable, both of you," he said.

But once the idea was in his head, it wouldn't leave. He tried not to think about shagging Malfoy. How soft his lips would be, how smooth his skin. But he couldn't stop.

He observed the blond more closely than ever, delighting in Malfoy's laugh, his smile, his wit. Aching to have some of it - any of it; all of it, directed at himself.

It wasn"t until he woke from a dream about the Slytherin, hot, sweaty, and sticky, that he accepted the truth. He buried his face in his hands and groaned.

"Bloody hell; I'm in love with Malfoy."

He hadn't realized it was possible to become more aware of Malfoy than he had been, but he did. Thoughts of the blond consumed him, waking or sleeping.

Harry thought he might be going mad.

He realised he would have to do something, and soon. But how? The blond had no interest in his friendship, let alone more.

Harry realised he would just have to try harder.

He pondered how to do that while he followed the blond outside under his invisibility cloak. Malfoy had swiped a few apples - always with the apples, he had an obsession with them, and damn if Malfoy could make the simple act of eating an apple look sexy - and he'd taken off, careful to avoid any admirers who might try to follow him.

Except for Harry under cover of his cloak.

Harry slipped after him and stopped, stilling as Malfoy flopped down under a tree. He took out another green apple from his pocket and rolled it in his palms. Harry stood and watched him a little while, until Malfoy's voice broke the silence.

"Potter," Malfoy drawled. "If I must suffer your presence, you might as well take off the bloody cloak and sit down."

Harry's jaw dropped, and for a moment he stood there in shock. How had Malfoy known he was there? How had he known about the cloak?

Malfoy huffed. "Honestly, Potter, I've known about that damn cloak since the train in sixth year. It's not like you can just stand there and fool me that way."

Harry winced, remembering, and instinctively reached up and rubbed his nose. He slid the cloak off and folded it over his arm.

"How'd you even know I was there?" he asked.

"A herd of rampaging hippogriffs is quieter than you at your stealthiest, Potter," came the answering sneer.

Harry snorted, knowing that wasn't true, but acknowledging to himself that he'd still been breathing pretty heavy when he approached the lake.

"So what brings you out here, in an invisibility cloak, no less?"

Harry debated for a moment, then decided he had nothing to lose. "I was looking for you, actually." He drew in a deep breath and waited. The ball was in Malfoy's court now. Would he toss it back?

He stared into the slate-grey eyes that had haunted his every waking and sleeping moment for months as he waited for a response.

Okay, maybe he was a little obsessed. But this was his chance, and if obsession had granted him that, so be it.


	3. Chapter 3

**Title:** Acrid

**Disclaimer: **Jo Rowling wrote the Harry Potter series. I had nothing to do with it, outside of my fantasies.

**Warnings: **Some swearing.

**Boot Camp: **OTP Camp

**A/N: **I wrote this for the OTP Boot Camp from the HPFC forum. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Prompt: **Acrid

* * *

Draco was acrid.

Anger flowed through his veins and bitterness rose like bile in his throat.

It wasn't fair.

Okay, maybe it was, a little.

Maybe he did deserve it. But it didn't change the way he felt about it; the sense of... betrayal? - that he felt.

He shouldn't feel that way, he knew. He and Potter had always been enemies, after all. But Draco thought things had changed.

In the Manor, Draco had refused to identify Potter or his friends. Later, Potter had saved his life - twice. Then he testified on Draco's behalf, saving him yet again; this time from Azkaban. He saved Draco's whole family. And when he returned Draco's wand... well. Draco had poured his heart out to Potter. He assumed they'd put their past behind them and opened up himself far, far too intimately.

Potter had given him advice.

Good advice.

Great advice, even.

As a matter of fact, spectacular advice. It really was working for him rather well, and it had only been two weeks since he'd come back to Hogwarts.

Then the prat had just dropped him like a newly foaled thestral.

Of course he acted like it wss all Hunnydukes and Butterbeers whenever they met after that. The git.

And now... Now Potter stared at him all the time; watching for him to mess up. Stalking him, just like sixth year - memories Draco would very much like to put behind himself, thankyouverymuch.

Thinking that Draco was up to something, again.

Which he wasn't.

He just wanted to move on with his life and make amends - hadn't he told Potter as much?

But the idiot Gryffindor apparently didn't trust him.

And maybe Draco had only himself to blame for that state of affairs, but it didn't stop him from seething with resentment over it.

Maybe his actions in sixth year had earned him a permanent place on Harry Potter's black list, but that didn't mean it didn't hurt. His heart clenched painfully just thinking about it, and he seethed some more.

He was upset with Potter's behaviour and the fact that the pillock had refused his friendship for the second time when he started back at Hogwarts. When he realised Potter was stalking him, that upset grew into resentment.

But then everything changed.

See, Potter approached him - he never would have gone crawling back to Potter; Malfoys do not grovel, not for anyone - and the git claimed to want to be friends. Made out like he'd wanted that all along. And Draco, fool that he was - for he bitterly acknowledged to himself now that he'd been a fool - took his pro-offered hand and thought for a little while that they could have a real friendship.

Ha, thought Draco.

Potter had pretended to be his friend while secretly (or not-so-secretly; Potter had all the stealth of a herd of rampaging hippogriffs) continued his spying and stalking of Draco.

That was when Draco became acrid; not just resentful - acrid.

He was going to have a long talk with Potter.

Tonight.

No one played a Malfoy for a fool.

No one.

Then Blaise gave him a reason to rethink his impending confrontation with the Prat Who Never Died.

"Potter fancies you."

Draco stared at Blaise as though he'd suddenly begun to sing like a Jabbernol.

"No, he doesn't." The very notion was mad.

"Oh, no? Look at Potter out of the corner of your eye; don't let him catch you, he's staring right now. And watch."

As insane as the idea was, Draco humoured his friend and peered discreetly at Potter.

"Watch," instructed Blaise. He casually leaned over, one hand on Draco's shoulder, the other resting on his thigh.

Potter tensed. Visibly, from across the hall. His eyes narrowed into slits and his gaze went from Draco to Blaise. If looks could kill, lightning would have fried Blaise but good in a heartbeat.

Blaise grinned, and Draco blinked at seeing his face this close up. He could have kissed him without moving much. Blaise really was beautiful. His eyes were a captivating shade of dark hazel. Draco's thigh felt hot where Blaise was touching it.

Draco shook his head to clear it. He had no romantic feelings towards Blaise; he was Draco's brother in all but blood. Strange that he would notice the other boy's attractiveness, and react to his proximity in a way he didn't with Pansy, who liked to Drape herself all over him whenever she had the chance. Blaise was, after all, a boy.

He moved away, and Draco felt relieved.

"Now look right at Potter," Blsise instructed. Draco flushed, just slightly. The odd, tingly feeling whenever he met Potter's eyes started already, just at the thought of locking eyes with him.

He looked over, straight into Potter's eyes. Those green, green eyes. Draco's flush deepened, but he didn't look away.

Potter did, though.

As soon as Draco met his eyes, he turned almost as scarlet as his house colours, and looked down at his plate immediately.

"See?" prompted Blaise, nudging Draco. "This is your chance."

"What in Merlin's name are you talking about, Blaise?" asked Draco.

"Potter," Blaise pressed. "What are you going to do about this?"

"Nothing," replied Draco. He needed time to digest this, decide if Blaise's theory was correct.

"Bullshit, Draco," he swore. "I know you fancy him; you have since you were eleven."

"Don't be absurd!" Draco scoffed.

Blaise eyed him knowingly. "I know you, Draco. Maybe better than you know yourself."

Draco rolled his eyes.

Blaise just smirked at him.

"Potter does not fancy me. And even if he did, I certainly do not fancy him!" Draco turned back to his dinner, an odd flutter in his stomach. He must have indigestion. How uncouth.

He would have to think about Blaise's theory of Potter fancying him. It certainly would put Potter's stalking in a more pleasant light. The thought bolstered his ego. After all, Potter was the saviour of the Wizarding world. It was a rather flattering idea.

Draco didn't really feel acrid anymore.


	4. Chapter 4

**Title:** Stars

**Disclaimer: **I had nothing to do with the advent of the monster that is the Harry Potter franchise.

**Boot Camp: **Favourite Hogwarts House Boot Camp

**A/N: **I wrote this for the Favourite Hogwarts House Boot Camp from the HPFC forum. I hope you enjoy it!

* * *

**Prompt**: Stars

* * *

Draco couldn't sleep.

He was too afraid.

Afraid of the dreams he couldn't control.

Afraid of the memories he so desperately wanted to forget.

Afraid of the past, and all its horrors.

Afraid of the future, and all the mistakes he would undoubtedly make.

Draco Malfoy was a coward.

He knew he was a coward, and it didn't bother him... much.

Okay, maybe it bothered him a great deal more than he was willing to admit, even to himself, but that didn't change the way he thought; the way he felt.

The way he shivered under the covers as the dark closed in around him.

The way terror lodged itself in his throat, and he had to take deep, gasping breaths as he struggled to breathe.

The silencing spells he had to put up every night so his dorm mates wouldn't want to kill him for waking them up with his screaming, caught in the throes of another nightmare.

An unfortunate side effect of living with the Dark Lord for a year.

His dorm mates all thought he was wanking.

Blaise was the only one who knew the truth behind the silencing spells. He would give Draco a sympathetic, pitying look as he cast them; but that was all Blaise could do.

Theo loved to tease him about growing hair on his palms.

Greg simply stared at the wall, a dull sheen to his eyes. He put up silencing spells of his own, but everyone knew why after that first night back. Draco had taken him aside the next day and taught him the silencing charms.

Greg missed Vince; was haunted by the way his best friend had died.

Draco couldn't bear to think about that.

He dreamed about it enough as it was.

Draco needed an escape.

Something to combat the fear; make him feel safe.

He found it after hours on the Hogwarts grounds.

He found it lying on his back in the cool grass, staring at the sky.

He found it in the stars.

It was the end of September, so it was cold. Draco always wore his warmest cloak.

He would lie there and stare at the stars, picking out constellations, and allowing their steady presence to calm him. When he returned to his bed, the dreams were less intense.

The stars were his anchor.

He always waited until everyone in the castle should have been asleep to sneak out.

So he was rather shocked when one night, Harry Potter materialized next to him out of thin air.

Draco wasn't sure about how to react. He sat up quickly, startled.

Potter had been stalking him again, and hadn't let up even after he assured Draco he wanted to be friends. Draco was hurt and angry, until Blaise had presented a theory: Potter wasn't waiting for him to mess up - Potter fancied him.

As ridiculous as that theory seemed, Blaise had shown him that Potter acted jealous when he touched Draco - and Draco noticed afterwards that that jealousy extended to Pansy's pawing as well. Potter also got embarrassed and flustered whenever Draco made eye contact - which proved to be very entertaining.

Not conclusive evidence; not by a long shot, but enough for Draco to wonder.

So right now Draco had no clue how to react.

He decided to take this as an opportunity to suss out more about Potter's supposed feelings towards him.

"Hullo, Potter," he said. "What brings you out here so late?"

Potter blushed. "Couldn't sleep." He avoided looking at Draco, and Draco wondered if there was more to it. "When I saw you over here, I thought I'd join you. You don't mind, do you?" He suddenly looked worried.

Draco laughed. "Of course not, Potter. We're friends now, after all."

Potter beamed, then spread out his invisibility cloak and sat down on top of it. "So what are you doing out here?" he asked, with an air of affected casualness.

"Couldn't sleep, same as you," Draco replied. Potter nodded.

"Nightmares?"

Draco started.

"I get them all the time," Potter said. Draco considered lying, then shrugged mentally.

"Yeah," he said. "Me too." He flushed, embarrassed by the admission.

"It's okay to be afraid, you know," said Potter softly. "It doesn't make you a coward."

Draco suddenly found himself fighting back tears. How had Potter known? He stared at the ground, blinking furiously.

"Hey," said Potter softly. "Look at me." He caught Draco's chin in his hand and pulled his face up to look him in the eye. "Everyone's afraid sometimes. Anyone who lived through the stuff we did would have nightmares. Horrible ones. It's normal."

"It feels like I should be stronger," whispered Draco.

"I know," Potter replied, giving a sharp, bitter laugh. "Merlin, believe me, I know."

They sat in silence, staring into each other's eyes. Draco was mesmerized. He couldn't look away. Their faces were mere inches apart, and Potter's attractiveness hit him like a bludger to the gut. His mouth suddenly went dry.

Potter was fit - very. His old baggy clothing had always hidden it well, but the new clothes he wore this term actually fit him properly and highlighted his Quidditch-toned build. The crazy hair Draco had so often made fun of was actually a good look for him; sort of sexy. His skin was lightly tanned and even his scar was sexy in its own way. His eyes were so very, very green behind those glasses.

The glasses themselves were still horrid and on a sudden impulse Draco reached over and slid them off, laying them on the ground beside Potter's knee. Potter's breath hitched.

Draco stared into his eyes, feeling captivated. Potter's pink tongue darted out and licked his full, lush lips, and Draco's breath caught in his throat. Potter's incredible eyes were filled with want. Potter leaned closer, closer... all Draco would have to do was close his eyes and lean forward and- Merlin, what was he thinking?

Draco quickly turned away. His heart was pounding the way it did after a Quidditch match with Gryffindor when Potter was the seeker - although the emotions he was feeling at the moment were very different from those after a match with Potter.

Potter fumbled with his glasses, sliding them back on. "Why'd you take these off?" he asked, voice slightly uneven.

"I wanted to see your eyes," Draco admitted. "You have very nice eyes, Potter." His voice was soft; too soft. He cleared his throat.

Potter's smile was like a small sun coming out. "Thanks." He gave Draco a shy look. "I get them from my mum."

Draco smiled back. "I'll bet she was lovely."

Potter ducked his head bashfully and nodded. "She was."

Draco turned his gaze back to the sky, and nestled back down on the grass. Beside him, he heard Potter do the same.

They laid in silence for a while, until they began speaking about constellations, and Black family history, and finally Potter family history as well. Potter lapped up everything Draco had to say like a sponge.

He knew now that Potter did, indeed fancy him. Now he just had to figure out what he was going to do about it.


	5. Chapter 5

**Title:** Agitated

**Disclaimer:** I own nussing, nussing, nussing! (I don't own Hogan's Heros, either)

**Boot Camp: **OTP Boot Camp

**A/N:** I wrote this for the OTP Boot Camp on the HPFC forum. Enjoy!

* * *

**Prompt:** Agitated

* * *

Malfoy seemed off to Harry.

He couldn't explain it. Things had been great lately. They were finally friends. Then he noticed that Draco seemed somehow… agitated around him. He tried to fix that when they went stargazing together – an act that was quickly becoming their nightly ritual – but for some reason, it got worse afterwards.

He would glare at Harry, then flush when Harry made eye contact. When they were talking he would avoid meeting Harry's eyes altogether. He acted nervous and jumpy around Harry.

Harry couldn't understand it.

He thought that maybe – just maybe – Malfoy might return his feelings. But if that was the case, why the glares?

No, Malfoy had no romantic feelings for Harry. Besides, he was straight. Probably.

He tried being extra nice to the Slytherin.

Malfoy glared even more.

He tried buying the blond sweets.

Malfoy gave him a look that nearly sent him running.

He tried asking Zabini, who began snickering and informed him that if he wasn't capable of working it out for himself, Zabini had no intention of telling him.

It was maddening.

As the next two weeks after their first night meeting under the stars went by, Malfoy just got more and more agitated.

It was driving Harry spare.

"Malfoy," he said one night while they were lying on their backs, side by side under the stars.

"Hmm?"

"What did I do?"

"What in Merlin's name are you on about, Potter?"

Harry sighed and rolled onto his side. "You keep glaring at me. Like I did something wrong. So, just tell me so that I can fix it. Please?"

Malfoy looked startled. He sighed. "You didn't do anything, Potter."

"Then why-"

"I'm just… dealing with a lot, you know? And the way you look at me sometimes gives me the creeps."

"Oh."

Harry felt a little crestfallen, though he couldn't have said why.

"Okay."

They laid in silence for a few minutes.

"Malfoy?"

"Mmm?"

"Wanna talk about the stuff you're dealing with?"

"Not really, Potter."

"Well, if you change your mind, let me know, okay?"

Malfoy snorted. "Don't worry, Potter. If I change my mind, you'll be the first to know."

Harry smiled as warmth bloomed in his chest.

He was Malfoy's first choice to go to for comfort. Maybe soon he could help Malfoy with whatever it was that had him so agitated.


	6. Chapter 6

**Title:** Breathless

**Disclaimer: **I don't own Harry Potter, anymore than I own the moon.

**Boot Camp: **OTP Boot Camp.

**A/N:** This was written for the OTP Boot Camp on the HPFC forum.

* * *

**Prompt: **Breathless

* * *

Harry was breathless.

Absolutely, completely, utterly over-the-moon breathless.

And the day had started off so ordinary...

"Bloody Ferret's bloody looking over here again," Ron groused.

Harry looked up - and sure enough, Draco Malfoy was glaring at him. He sighed and returned to his breakfast, albeit with a little less of an appetite.

"Are you sure you two are friends now, mate? He looks like he wants to hex you." Ron's voice was hopeful. He hadn't taken it very well when Harry had announced that he was going to be friends with Malfoy, and no; he was not under Imperius, or any other spell, or a potion, or being blackmailed, thankyouverymuch.

Ron's tantrum had lasted days.

"What the bloody hell's his problem, anyway?"

"Ron!" Harry slammed his fork down on the table. "Leave off Malfoy, alright?"

"Yeah," echoed Ginny, all but crawling into his lap. "He's Harry's friend, Ron."

Harry frowned but said nothing - she was taking his side, after all - and simply scooted over, giving her more room. She followed him.

It was a game they played at every meal; one he didn't know the rules to, hadn't signed up for, and desperately wished he knew how to quit.

He sighed and resigned himself to a lapful of Ginny - it was either that, or give Seamus a lapful of Harry, and he thought Dean might take exception to that.

Their other friends hadn't noticed, of course. Harry, with his senses honed by his still-recent bout of self-discovery, had spotted the shift in the relationship between the two young men, but kept it to himself. They were obviously trying to be discreet.

He was happy for them. If only his own love-life were so lucky.

Speaking of... he looked up, casually flicking his eyes over to the Slytherin table.

Malfoy was staring at him again - and this time he looked murderous.

Harry blinked. His confidence from the previous night's stargazing session vanished. He must have done something for the blond to look at him like that, whatever his friend said to the contrary.

He just had to figure out what it was.

The rest of the day passed normally.

Harry went to class.

He joked and laughed with Ron and Hermione.

He passed Malfoy in the halls, smiled, nodded, and greeted him. Malfoy just scowled and kept walking.

That was new. Normally Malfoy would smirk at him and reply, "Potter," and if they had time between classes they might chat for a bit. But today Malfoy just scowled.

Harry worried about it the rest of the day. He fumbled his way through the rest of his classes, and that night he stared up at his canopy, wondering just what he'd done wrong.

When it was time, he grabbed his cloak and headed out to meet Malfoy in their usual spot.

He let out a small sigh of relief when he saw Malfoy was already there. He'd been half afraid his friend wouldn't show up, after his odd behavior today. The blond was staring at the stars, a pensive look on his face.

"Hey," Harry said as he spread his cloak and flopped down on it.

"Hey yourself," replied Malfoy.

Harry smiled. Things were back to normal.

"So, I noticed you were getting pretty cosy with the Weaselette today," Malfoy said casually.

Harry quieted the part of his mind that rejoiced, thinking maybe Malfoy had been jealous. It wasn't like that. Still, he didn't want Malfoy getting the wrong idea. He let out a sigh.

"She won't stop." He frowned. "I don't know how to make her give up."

"I see," Malfoy murmured noncommittally.

"How was your day?"

"Long." Malfoy chuckled. "Too fucking long."

It was his new favourite word, "fucking". He said it infuriated his father.

They lay in silence for a while, just enjoying each other's company.

Harry sneaked covert glances at Malfoy as the other boy watched the stars. Finally, Malfoy caught him looking. He rolled his eyes.

"You're such a stupid speccy git," Malfoy said, and suddenly his soft lips were pressed against Harry's.

Malfoy. Was. Kissing. Him.

Harry brain stopped working.

He gasped, and Malfoy's tongue darted out, swiping inside his mouth, tasting him. Harry moaned and responded, his tongue twining around the blond's.

Their tongues danced together for a few moments, and Harry's heart – no, his whole body, was singing a Hallelujah chorus.

Because Malfoy. Was. Kissing,. Him.

Him. Harry Potter. He was being kissed by Draco Malfoy.

Harry wondered if this was a dream, a beautiful fantasy conjured by his subconscious. He didn't care. He didn't want it to stop.

All too soon, it did. Malfoy pulled away, and Harry let out an involuntary whimper as he broke the kiss.

Malfoy smirked at him.

"What was that for?" Harry asked softly.

"I fancy you, too, idiot." And Malfoy's mouth curved into a genuine smile.

Harry couldn't speak.

He was breathless.


End file.
